


the weight of devotion

by xiajin



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arranged Marriage, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Love Language, M/M, the mortifying ideal of falling in love with your husband
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:22:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiajin/pseuds/xiajin
Summary: jaebeom builds jinyoung a house. jinyoung gives jaebeom a home.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Park Jinyoung
Comments: 27
Kudos: 152





	the weight of devotion

when his lawyer, a hong-kong native with enough passable korean to both lie to jaebeom and simultaneously make fun of his drinking habits, knocks of his door at 3 am – he knows that there’s something wrong.

the first thing that he does is throw on his old college sweatshirt and slowly, carefully, roll out of bed. jaebeom takes care to be quiet, _quiet_ , his footsteps ever so soft on their cold wood floor so as not to wake jinyoung. it’s nerve-wracking to try and move around without alerting jinyoung’s potent senses, as he always seems to be a light sleeper. it’s a testament to how tired jaebeom’s husband is that he doesn’t stir at the knocking. or the way jaebeom’s phone buzzes at his desk table, garnering his attention.

jaebeom isn’t sure if he feels relieved or upset that jinyoung hadn’t stumbled awake at the noise. is he just tired, or has he finally let down some of his guards around jaebeom? it’s hard to tell. they sleep on the same bed, but jaebeom has never felt further away from him.

his phone glares blue-white light at him in the dark. jackson’s name pops up on his screen at _least_ six times; the last one is a short text message reading, _open your door. i’m outside._ jaebeom trips over the raised edge into his kitchen and swears softly to himself. if he looks toward their bedroom, pausing to listen for movement, no one knows but him.

he downs a glass of water. fingers tight over the edge of the glass, eyes physically weary, a different type of exhaustion settles into his shoulders.

jackson doesn’t seem far from that same shoulder-dragging weariness when jaebeom opens the door. dressed up in slacks and his work shirt, tiny star-shaped tie pin against a deep navy tie, his hair pomade and cologne reek of _i just came from the office._ despite it being 3am.

“can i come in?”

wordlessly, jaebeom invites him inside. when jackson’s sharp, shined shoes _clack_ against the linoleum floor, cold underneath jaebeom’s bare and sockless feet, he says, “stay quiet. jinyoung is sleeping.”

jackson pauses. for a moment, it seems as though he isn’t breathing, but that assumption dies slowly. instead, he takes off his shoes, untying premium leather tipped laced and gently setting them aside. next to where jinyoung’s shoes reside in a neat line. work loafers, sneakers, sandals.

jaebeom grabs a glass of cold water for jackson, setting it in front of him on the coffee table. jackson has brought his briefcase with him, a habitual workaholic. if it weren’t for the way he hasn’t argued with jaebeom yet, started in on a long tirade of his day, asked after jinyoung, jaebeom would have thought nothing was wrong.

but there is. something’s wrong. or else jackson wouldn’t be here at barely-there daylight, edging along the lines of jaebeom’s nerves.

condensation lines the edge of the water glass. it’s too hot in manhattan, only getting hotter every day as may sets in. jaebeom aches for the cool sweetness of his workplace, wondering how jackson manages to look unaffected even with his many layers. even with his neatly pressed blazer, crisp and stuffy, he doesn’t seem the least bit affected.

lucky him.

“ _hyung,_ ” jackson starts, the korean word so familial to him that it sounds native. “have you heard from your grandparents recently?”

no, in fact. jaebeom hasn’t. he tells jackson as much.

“well,” jackson starts, his expression uncharacteristically grave – but gentle, too. “i have some news for you, then.”

/

jinyoung finds him sitting on their worn-out grey couch, his elbows pressing deep into the thin skin of his knees. it’ll bruise in the morning, maybe. jinyoung doesn’t so much as stumble in as he does trip gracefully, dipping down before righting himself up again. he rubs at one eye with the heel of his hand, the other pressed flat against his stomach, hem of his white shirt pulling up. jaebeom glances at him and then looks down blankly at the white-tipped envelope in front of him.

it’s made of cardstock paper, thick and velvet-soft in his hands in a way jaebeom didn’t think paper could ever be. a wax seal holds it shut. it’s been almost three hours since jackson has left, but jaebeom has yet to get up and settle himself back into the welcoming warmth of his bed.

even jinyoung, who has not been married to him long, knows something is wrong.

it shows in the way he slips a yellow, chipped mug of sweet-smelling tea in front of jaebeom’s line of vision, next to the envelope he’s been staring at on and off for the last few hours. jaebeom’s bones creak as he straightens. his lower back aches as the movement causes stiff muscles to bend as he wills it. jinyoung sits on the single seat across from him, his legs pulled up to his chest, a similar white mug in his hands. he’s wearing his glasses, frowning at jaebeom, gaze questioning – but no matter how curious he may be, he won’t ask. there’s a wariness to his movements, the lack of open gesture, that speaks of a guarded carefulness to his movements.

very pointed. it wouldn’t be jinyoung without it, jaebeom thinks. if there’s one thing he’s learned about him, it’s that jinyoung is a master of being there without actually _being_ there.

“are you okay?” he asks, voice careful and low. the heater kicks off in their apartment, hissing awake like a great beast. jaebeom’s legs have fallen asleep, pin pricks of feeling running up and down his legs. jinyoung only ever speaks to him in korean, words slow and easy, as if he knows pitching a little too fast would leave jaebeom scrambling behind.

is he okay? a strange question to ask. jaebeom doesn’t think he feels much of anything at all, except for a large chasm growing in between his ribs. time has slowed to a distant, damning trickle, like honey, like agar. deliriously slow.

his phone, he thinks, must have been going off. his mother. at worst, his father. at best, distant cousins he can avoid.

jaebeom reaches for the mug of tea, gripping it tightly. the warmth of it seeps into his chilled fingers. when he leans back and rubs his finger across the top of the mug, he meets jinyoung’s eyes briefly from where they’re situated across from each other, and – for a brief moment – just briefly – he wishes jinyoung would come over to him, rest his head on jaebeom’s shoulder, cuddle in close. share his cat-like grace with jaebeom, speak to him in his low voice pleasant with sleep, perhaps run his fingers across jaebeom’s knuckles. for a brief moment, he wishes jinyoung would give him the comfort he had once thought he would get from his future spouse.

but jinyoung doesn’t. he sips at his tea, fingers folding over the white paper card reading _earl grey blend_ in purple edge. jaebeom’s mouth is dry when he says, in korean, “jackson visited me last night.”

“jackson,” jinyoung repeats his name, the last vowel more of a _seun_ instead of _son_. sounds he can’t shake off. “your lawyer?”

“our lawyer,” jaebeom corrects. jinyoung may not like to be reminded of their marriage, but jaebeom will never let him feel like he owns nothing in this partnership of theirs. whatever belongs to him is something he’s willing to give to jinyoung.

jinyoung’s frown grows deeper, if possible. “what’s wrong? why did jackson- _ssi_ come to visit so late at night?” and then, “you never came back to bed, after. have you been awake the entire time?”

of course. jinyoung is a light sleeper. jaebeom couldn’t have been so lucky. the fact that jinyoung knew, the entire time, and yet hadn’t come out to see him –

he closes his eyes. “my grandfather passed away a couple of days ago.”

“oh,” jinyoung’s words, breathy and hesitant, settle between them. “i’m sorry. were you close with him?”

in a way, jaebeom hadn’t been. in his family, ties of familiarity are more of a nuisance than they are a source of happiness. his grandfather had been of the type to lounge in his large home in south korea, a cigarette hanging at the edge of his mouth. while jaebeom’s cousins had always taken care to speak formally to him, their posture unerring, jaebeom of the main family branch settled himself in his grandfather’s lap and reached out to touch the end of his cigarette. the old man would chuckle and pull jaebeom’s tiny fingers away with his weathered hands, stating, _this is nothing for a child to touch._

perhaps some bad habits _are_ passed through blood.

“of sorts,” jaebeom responds distantly. he’s thinking about his grandfather now, how the looming sense of unease and apprehension begins to take form in sweat at the nape of his neck, how the sound of his phone going off if it weren’t put on silent will give him overbearing anxiety. “i haven’t seen him in ages. i didn’t think – “

his eyes travel to the pristine white envelope.

and then, to jinyoung, he says, “we’re going back to south korea.”

jinyoung jolts, some of his tea spilling over his knuckles. his feet touch the wood floor as he leans forward, and jaebeom tries not to look at what he will see there; jinyoung’s wide, hopeful eyes, followed by a rush of repression as he realizes the circumstances of their return. he’s never liked it in new york city. or in america.

“i,” jinyoung licks his bottom lip. “for how long?”

“indefinitely.”

jaebeom still has yet to open it. his grandfather’s last words to him and him alone.

“i’ll go pack,” jinyoung says, standing up. “for the both of us.” and, this time, he heads over to jaebeom to pull the mug from his stiff fingers, setting it down. “sleep,” he insists, pulling at jaebeom’s forearm. jaebeom lets himself be pulled up, stupid with relief and gratitude that his husband is giving him some attention, at least, an anchor in a wild restless sea, that he doesn’t agonize over the thought that he knows to be true; that jinyoung is doing this out of gratitude to him, offering the sweetness of his concern because jaebeom is taking him home.

/

it takes them a week to properly leave. not only do they have to pack their clothes and personal belongings, but jaebeom has to settle the issues with his penthouse, talk to jackson every other day, and field off calls from his mother. jinyoung makes calls to let those at his job know about his leave of absence for the next few days. jaebeom gets calls and texts from friends, from family, all asking how he feels – if he’s okay – if he needs to talk, they’ll be there.

but jaebeom feels nothing. not even grief.

the flight is too long, even if it is comfortable. jinyoung sleeps through most of it, his head lolling against the seat to settle onto jaebeom’s shoulder, like he had wanted it ages ago. the skin of jinyoung’s cheek is soft and supple when jaebeom shifts his head to be more comfortable on his neck. his hair smells like lavender.

he is uncomfortably awake for the entirety of the ride back.

when they finally land in incheon, dragging down by wind turbulence and drying air-conditioned plane seats, jinyoung has roused himself from sleep. jaebeom grabs their luggage first, the rest of it following them after in the next few weeks. jinyoung trails behind him, his eyes lively as he looks around the airport, hearing the sounds of korean every direction he turns.

jaebeom spies a familiar face waiting for them at the gates. he’s years older, now, still as tall as ever, with silver-dyed hair and enough ear piercings to make jaebeom proud. he pauses in the front so jinyoung can catch up, fanning himself with his passport.

“hyung-nim,” yugyeom starts, his face breaking out into a wide smile that makes him look like a teenager trailing after jaebeom again. “it’s good to see you!” he engulfs jaebeom in a large hug, pulling away only to look at jinyoung trailing behind him. yugyeom’s smile, to his credit, doesn’t falter as he engulfs jinyoung in a hug too.

jaebeom expects the other to stiffen up, but he doesn’t. instead, jinyoung seems to blink, bewildered at the almost two-meter child in a man’s body draping himself over him, before he reaches out and returns the hug.

“you don’t remember me, probably,” yugyeom says as he pulls away, fixing up the bottom of his black shirt, “but i was the ring bearer at your wedding!” he beams as he says it, too.

“oh,” jinyoung says, and then, tentatively, “yugyeom?”

“you remember!” yugyeom is pleased. he holds onto jinyoung’s hands longer than is proper, but it’s with the adoration of a younger brother.

there’s another familiar face waiting for them outside, where it’s burning sunlight and dry weather. jinyoung inhales sharply at the burst of hot air that greets them as they leave the airport, squeaky wheels of their luggage following behind him. jaebeom rubs the side of his face and slips on his sunglasses, squinting against the concrete beneath his feet.

“youngjae-hyung,” yugyeom says, voice pitching up in excitement, “they’re here!”

“i can see that,” youngjae says, quiet but nonetheless happy to see them. youngjae meets jaebeom’s eyes first, reaches in for a full body hug that doesn’t linger. he’s wearing a suit, so unlike youngjae, and there’s tired crinkles around his eyes. he turns to jinyoung and smiles widely, happier to see him than jaebeom. “hyung!”

“youngjae-ah,” jinyoung says, relieved, and opens his arms wide. youngjae barrels straight into him as if he’s sixteen again, hugging him tight around the middle. he’s grown a little in the past two years. “how have you been?”

“it’s so good to see you,” youngjae says instead, inhaling before pulling away. jaebeom doesn’t fault him. jinyoung smells like lavender and comfort. “it’s been a mess at home. it’s a good thing you guys came back,” youngjae sighs, looking at jaebeom. “it’s been too long.”

“yeah,” jaebeom says quietly. “it has.”

/

he has a native’s love for his home country, the kind that only comes from being raised on its streets and grown on its food. seoul’s noise is a symphony, the air tastes cleaner than manhattan’s, and the rolling sounds of korean are a balm on his nerves. he knew jinyoung missed south korea, born and raised here ‘till the moment they married and jaebeom had set off for a different country. jaebeom just didn’t realize that he had missed it too.

the scenery that passes him by rolls into one huge landscape. jaebeom can’t tell if he’s looking at colors or images, his eyes catching upon the glinting edge of skyscraper windows, billboards alight with pretty doll-like faces, street signs with cursive korean scrawl. he blinks and the scenery changes. a convenience store and a mcdonalds, a group of girls laughing in front of a café with dingy lights but white awning. he blinks and there’s a shopping mall, situated in between a meat market and a textile shop, an older man sitting outside in a sweat-soaked grey shirt and a can of something cold. he blinks and doesn’t open his eyes this time.

yugyeom’s voice is subdued when he asks, “hyung-nim looks tired.”

“he didn’t sleep on the plane, i think,” he hears jinyoung say. they sound far away, distant, like jaebeom is listening to their words underwater. “he hasn’t really rested since his lawyer came by to tell him the news.”

“knowing jackson, he probably came at some weird time of night,” youngjae clicks his tongue from where he’s behind the wheel.

“he did,” jinyoung confirms. there is a light touch at his forehead, almost as if someone is pushing aside his bangs. the car jerks to a slow stop and jaebeom attributes it to his head moving down the window in accordance. “he’s worn out.”

“it was really sudden,” yugyeom sighs. “great grandpa was perfectly healthy the last time we saw him. which was – what, earlier this month?” youngjae makes a sound of assent. “he was running around like always, staring up a new project. a greenhouse, right?”

“something like that,” youngjae says. “he always says it’s going to be a greenhouse. last time he wanted to build one, he made a shed instead. in auntie’s house, nonetheless.”

“grandma wasn’t too happy about that,” yugyeom recalls. “but mom really liked it, so they kept it. they keep their badminton stuff in there.”

“sounds nice,” jinyoung says. “he was a builder like jaebeom- _ssi_ then.”

a minor pause, especially at such a formal way to address one’s husband.

“he was,” youngjae says instead, filling up all the awkward spaces, as jaebeom resolves to sleep for real. “maybe that’s why hyungnim was grandfather’s favorite…”

jaebeom wakes up when they’re at the main family house. he recognizes the way the car rolls over gravel before hitting smooth road. jaebeom wakes up to the familiar sight of cherry blossom trees and well-trimmed bushes, the car gliding over the pavement. his grandfather had built their house with a vision in mind. when jaebeom was younger, he didn’t understand what “vision” meant – now that he’s older, he sees it in the way the trees curve over the edge of the roof slightly, how the sun could rise and cast shadows over the hedges and the roof. jinyoung pulls away from him, body slightly close, his warmth seeping into jaebeom’s side.

he didn’t realize how cold it would be. it’s rainy season, heavy and insistent, but the cold seems to reach farther than the first layer of skin.

jaebeom is still quite tired when they reach their home. he sees the expanse of his close family waiting just beyond the gates, their eyes and hands insistent. far off in the distance, jaebeom spots his mother flitting around. she has pearls around her neck, her silk blouse and pressed skirt immaculately kept. his breath hitches. jinyoung seems to still behind him, always waiting a step behind, never wanting to walk next to him.

jaebeom swallows thickly. he turns away before his mother can catch his eye, turning to youngjae. “i think we’re both tired from the trip,” he says hollowly. “i could use some sleep. jinyoung, too.”

youngjae’s eyes slide to jinyoung, who doesn’t argue. he nods. they walk away from the waiting party to the back, where numerous doors hide between intricately decorated walls. hidden by ivy and hedges and trees of all kinds, jaebeom can disappear into the faux woods and then from sight. the further they get from the rest of their extended family, the less tense he gets.

there a soft sound behind him, like a thump, and then jinyoung cursing underneath his breath. he’s tripped on a bramble, then. jaebeom turns back around and holds out a hand for him to take, stopping all of them in their tracks.

jinyoung barely thinks before taking his hand, palm warm and not sweaty at all. shame. jaebeom’s hands are always sweaty, especially when he thinks about placing his fingers on any bare sliver of jinyoung’s skin. even the smoothness of his knuckles entrances jaebeom with every tiny crevice.

“eww,” yugyeom says underneath his breath, and jaebeom elbows him in the ribs.

youngjae drops them off in front of jaebeom’s old rooms. he hugs them both before they go, yugyeom following close after, citing the need to get the rest of their luggage inside.

“but don’t worry, take a long nap,” youngjae says kindly.

yugyeom wanders off halfway through to take a call, leaving youngjae to guide them to their rooms. it’s the same ones that jaebeom had lived in as a child and then an angry teen, but there’s little to nothing left of him remaining in that space. instead, it looks more like one of the guest rooms, curtains and bedsheets primly pressed with the scent of orchids.

jaebeom presses the heel of his palm to his eyes and jinyoung’s hands flit away from him, returning to his own body. jaebeom resists the urge to pull at him again, bring his fingers close, ask for a tidbit of sweetness. he brought jinyoung home, didn’t he? but jaebeom would never ask and have jinyoung comply out of some misplaced sense of duty. that would hurt worse than a blunt knife, jaebeom thinks.

“go take a shower,” jinyoung tells him, tilting his head toward the open door to the bathroom. “i’ll unpack.”

he turns to their luggage, closed off as ever, and jaebeom silently slips away as told.

/

reading the will is like pulling teeth. except the teeth are errant, greedy adults who never had the chance to grow out of being errant, greedy children. jaebeom, dressed in a pressed luxury shirt (it had been waiting for him when he woke up, and jinyoung had given him one look before sitting him down and buttoning up his shirt, fixing his collar, preparing jaebeom to look flawlessly elegant the way jinyoung always is - ) and slacks, sits at a corner of the room and allows the quick korean to wash over him.

he thinks, sparingly, of yugyeom and youngjae and jinyoung. the three of them had gone out to brunch to give jaebeom some semblance of privacy with the rest of his family members, despite not wanting it.

it makes sense for yugyeom to not be here – he’s a whole generation below jaebeom, despite being close to him in age. youngjae, though? his actual cousin? how did _he_ manage to slip off? but thinking of youngjae’s sunny disposition and unfailing optimism, perhaps his absence is really a blessing in disguise. he would never remain happy at the bloodbath to follow.

despite sitting in the back, jaebeom knows all the attention remains on him.

“the will is very clear in what it states,” his father says, frowning. jaebeom tries not to look at him, despite his insistent attempts to catch jaebeom’s eye. the youngest of five high-profile siblings, jaebeom is well aware that his father has done everything in his power to one up his siblings throughout the course of his life as much as he has tried to push them to further success. it’s a strange dichotomy that jaebeom will never understand. “and father wanted jaebeom to have this specific plot of land.”

“father-in-law was insistent that it should go to jaeyi,” jaebeom’s aunt says, frowning at her husband, the only paternal uncle jaebeom has.

“he obviously changed his mind last minute,” his eldest aunt says, rolling her eyes. her hair has gone almost entirely silver; she’s yugyeom’s grandmother, and jaebeom always marvels at how he can see the slope of yugyeom’s nose in her face. “as dad is always apt to do. what he wrote in the will is clear. i don’t know why we’re wasting time and money arguing about this. did you all not agree to follow what was in dad’s will?”

cowed by their eldest and sternest sister, the siblings of that generation quiet down. jaebeom’s eyes flicker over each one of them, something quiet and insistent building in his stomach.

“besides,” youngjae’s mother, the most soft-spoken of jaebeom’s aunts, gives him a small smile. “it makes sense, does it? what will you all do with that land? build another complex, make a park? with what time, what money? what skill? jaebeom followed dad’s dreams to become an architect, and it would make sense to give land to him. they share vision.”

jaebeom’s throat is dry. “aunt – “

she shakes her head. “i agree with _unnie_. staying here and arguing about land that will stay unused in someone else’s hands is pointless. let’s argue what you’re _actually_ here to argue about,” she side eyes her sister in law, the one who had insisted that the land should go to her husband. jaebeom excuses himself wordlessly, pulling his hand away from his mother’s quick hands, receding into the dark as someone’s voice breaks into a shrill, angry tone.

he doesn’t want to return to his room, empty and impersonal, so he goes to the kitchens instead. there are very few people working there. jaebeom’s head feels like there’s cotton stuffed between his ears, so it’s all the better for him.

“hello, young master,” says one of the servants, and he waves the traditional title aside. they move away quickly, leaving the stove open.

one of the older chefs and a familiar face grins at jaebeom, dark eyes appraising jaebeom for a moment. “sorry to hear about the old master,” she says, her face softening. “are you going to make something, beom?”

“can i borrow a stovetop?” he says instead.

“always. the fridge is open for your taking, young master.”

“please,” jaebeom says tiredly, before moving to shove his sleeves up his arms as he’s apt to do. he remembers the careful way jinyoung’s long fingers had pressed his collar neatly, buttoned up his cuffs. jaebeom folds up his sleeves instead.

the old chef watches his aborted motion with an amused glint in her eye. she says, “being married has done you some good then, huh?”

jaebeom gives her a baleful and embarrassed stare before heading to the fridge.

later, when jinyoung has returned from his outing with youngjae and yugyeom, his cheeks are flushed with a fetching shade of pink from the beginning of the korean summer. even in the heat, he looks good with his short-sleeved shirt tucked into comfortable slacks and loafers. his hair is a little damp with sweat, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose.

jaebeom hasn’t changed, yet, and he’s hot from standing over the fire in the kitchen. mindlessly working, doing _something_ with his hands – chopping, stirring, picking apart stems – kept his mind off of things he doesn’t want to think about.

it results in a pot of stew resting on an antique table in the lounge area of their room, followed by a selection of side dishes and some rice cake soup. jaebeom watches with silly pride as jinyoung’s eyes widen. “it smells good,” he says, settling down on the couch. “is it - ?”

“eat,” jaebeom says, pushing a porcelain rice bowl toward him. “what did you guys do out?”

jinyoung reaches for his chopsticks and grabs a couple of marinated cucumbers, settling it on top of his rice. he eats neatly and cleanly. while he tells jaebeom about yugyeom’s antics at the café they had visited on his insistence, jaebeom can’t help but watch tiny details; the purse of jinyoung’s lips as his mouth closes over a bite, the crease of his elbow, the jut of bone at his wrist. jaebeom’s mouth is still dry when jinyoung asks, hesitantly, “what did you talk about with your family?”

“the will, as you can imagine,” jaebeom says. “grandfather left me land near the water. it’s a beautiful place, high property value. as i’m told.” he looks toward the window as if he can hear the water now. “doesn’t matter how much they fight over it; the will is already written.” a dead man’s word doesn’t change.

jinyoung doesn’t say much to that. what is there to say, really? what he does say instead is, “i’ve missed the ocean.”

jaebeom’s gaze flickers to him. “really?”

“yes,” jinyoung says. “growing up, we were so close to the water, it was easy to drop by after school and play the entire day away… all of our field trips were to the beaches. at some point it got annoying, but school does that.” he looks down at where his chopsticks clink against his bowl. distance makes the heart grow fonder, jaebeom thinks.

“do you want to come with me to visit the place?” he asks slowly, and doesn’t regret the way it makes the corner of jinyoung’s mouth pull up with a smile.

/

the day they go to visit is a little gloomy with overcast. the sky isn’t blue enough, the day is washed out with unsaturated light, and the air is heavy with fog. but jinyoung looks expectant, eyes bright as he watches the world outside of their car window, drinking in the sights of south korea as he has last seen it. they’re in the south, jaebeom remembers, perhaps near busan. perhaps near jinyoung’s childhood home. whatever is left of it.

their driver leaves them at the edge of the property. jaebeom pats the man on the shoulder in thanks and exits the same time as jinyoung does; youngjae follows after them with stark curiosity painted across his features. having grown up in a fairly large house in the middle of a township, half an hour away from the main city of seoul, both he and youngjae lived most of their entire life the easy opulence of urban access. here, where there is only green and brown and wind whipping through their hair, it’s easy to forget that both regions are part of the same country, the same land.

jinyoung looks avid with it, his shoulders easy and mouth slightly open in awe at the landscape. there are numerous kilometers spread out before them, dotted with trees on top of grassy hills that filter into a white beach and quiet ocean. jaebeom can smell the salt from here.

“there’s a small house where grandfather used to stay,” youngjae informs them. “would you like to see it?”

more so than a house, it’s a cabin. it’s smaller than what he’d ever expect from grandfather, half finished in its design and in its build. there’s evidence of storm damage and ideas that had never come to fruition.

“it looks like an old passion project,” jaebeom says slowly, looking up at the exposed rafters. “but it’s a very old cabin. old man probably wanted to keep it as a fishing spot for himself.”

“sounds like him,” youngjae agrees, toes scuffing the unfinished floor. “hyung?”

jinyoung has already moved to one of the cabin windows, pulling it open and waving away the dust in the air. he leans against it, staring out at a truly beautiful view of the water. jaebeom imagines that on a beautiful day, the sun must glitter across the waves. he’s arrested by the sight of jinyoung smiling, content, at the water, his arms folded in front of him. and then he pulls back, meets jaebeom’s eyes, and that smile disappears into something more perfunctory.

his chest aches.

“it’s a beautiful place,” jinyoung says, pressing a palm against the wall. “a little house on the shore. tiny houses like this have their own charm.”

something edges at jaebeom’s conscious, like a burgeoning idea. he smiles, “i’m glad you like it.”

jaebeom is well aware of how their conversation sounds to outsiders; stilted, not quite like a married couple. jaebeom can’t meet youngjae’s eyes when they’re walking back to the car.

/

jaebeom hates being at his ancestral home. it feels unfilial to even think about, an intrusive thought that he bleakly wants to bury in a grave, but it’s true nonetheless. he wants to go back to new york city, where it’s easier to disappear. he wants to disappear into another country, another space, where no one can find him – not his mother, his father, his family, _no one_.

jinyoung is still sleeping by the time jaebeom wakes to down his morning coffee. maybe jinyoung. if jinyoung would want to come with him, that is. it was why he liked new york city so much, but it’s also the reason why he came back; he liked being alone with jinyoung, in a separate life. but jinyoung wasn’t happy. not that he ever is, with jaebeom.

he still has a week and a half until he has to answer his emails in the firm back in america. jinyoung has the rest of the month off with video calls and office work; he’s in talks about switching to the editorial south korean branch. jaebeom had nodded mutely when jinyoung shared this with him over dinner.

he’s already sleeping better, jaebeom thinks, watching the way his husband (his _husband_ , his brain tells him softly, wondrously, followed by guilt at such secret happiness) sleeps with no tension in his brow. he’s fallen into a deep slumber, quiet unlike how he sleeps in their bed in new york.

jaebeom finishes his coffee and immediately misses his second cup, despite never having it. he misses a lot of things he’s never had in the first place.

with a short note written on the silver tray bringing breakfast, jaebeom buttons up the rest of his crinkled shirt and heads out. his feet take him to a slightly more familiar area of the house; namely, his grandfather’s study. it’s the one place none of his children and his children’s children and his children’s children’s children (ie: yugyeom) had been allowed to enter without express permission. his grandmother was always welcome. jaebeom recalls late nights he had been cajoled by his grandfather, sleepy and slightly uncomfortable with his grandfather’s musk, only to be pulled aside by his grandmother. she would feed him warm milk and honey and send him on his way, ‘tsking’ at her husband.

they’re both gone now. the house feels empty without their larger than life presence. jaebeom hadn’t ever been close to either of his grandparents, opting to play with his cousins and the other children, before drowning himself in his work. but there are memories. perhaps the spare happy ones are better to have than numerous ones riddled with pain. he doesn’t know if it would have been worth it, because he hasn’t experienced it.

even now, his grandfather’s study is a mess of familiar and unfamiliar elements. he recalls the paintings on the wall, but not the table, or the armchair. the fireplace is familiar, but the tea set above it is not, or the smaller heater beside it. jaebeom’s fingers run over the edge of his grandfather’s old-fashioned work table, a veritable dream. if there was one thing jaebeom has always wanted, it was a table like this, spaces for pens and pencils and stencils in every corner; premiere wood carved by hand and polished to a shiny veneer; steeped in the scent of an old man’s hands, creating homes for futures to be cultivated.

even now, it feels like he misses a stranger. and a missed chance.

he won’t ever find his grandfather’s plans for that little cabin by the sea. it’s lost between all of his other projects, half finished ideas and peculiarities. in their line of work, more often than not, there’s no room for personal ideation. jaebeom is drowned in the expectations of his clients, necessity overruling creativity. which is not a bad thing; he’s fairly young, with a stable job that supports him and his family well, but – but.

he thinks about jinyoung’s content smile at the window. thinks about the idea of wanting.

his grandfather’s half finished ideas have already dissipated into sawdust. a dilapidated house, half broken in, is no place to live in. but it could be. maybe he, too could make a home with a future. maybe jinyoung could sleep in that home without a care, so heavy that his dreams would sink into the ground and lay foundation for some semblance of happiness. and maybe there would be space for jaebeom in there too.

/

the first time jaebeom disappears to the cabin is two and a half weeks later, when living at home has gotten to be too much. his mother loves jinyoung, and when he’s around, jaebeom never has to worry about taking up her attention. his father is busy, alongside jaebeom’s other aunts and uncles in honoring his grandfather’s will. there are arguments about the money, is all jaebeom knows. and the inheritance. it’s not his problem, not anymore.

but other people are insistent on _making_ it his problem. constantly inviting him to family meetings – demanding, more like – wanting his input, bringing up the _land,_ bringing up _jinyoung_ and their very public, very arranged marriage that saved much of park enterprises, bringing up personal gripes and childhood feuds and jaebeom doesn’t _care about these things_ –

he finds himself in the car before he can fully comprehend his own thoughts, driving out to the cabin. he parks in a grassy area nearby, running a hand through his hair as he pulls out of the car. what a sight he must make; a rich man stumbling into a run down house, in his rich man clothes and rich man car.

jaebeom looks toward the ocean. in the distance, the waves look large and monstrous, crashing against the shore with single minded intensity. salt rests heavy at the back of his tongue.

the cabin is still as run down as ever. he checks the lighting, the electricity, the plumbing. everything works except for the heating, as there’s no gas. the kitchen is the only thing that’s mostly done, with an electric stove and a gas add on, a dusty fridge, tiles with sand in the cracks. the flooring is mostly done, save for a couple of rooms. the ceilings need to be fixed. the second floor is smaller and a complete mess, not even touched.

youngjae calls him an hour in.

“ _hyungnim_ ,” he starts, a little worry bleeding into his tone, “ _where have you been? no one can find you?_ ”

“i just needed a moment to myself,” jaebeom admits, running a hand over the edge of a pile of wood pieces he found in a closet. his mind is moving miles a minute. “i’ll be home in two hours or so. after dinner, when everyone’s gotten their heads out of their asses.”

“ _alright_ ,” youngjae says. and then, softer, “ _jinyoung-hyung was worried about you. said he couldn’t get your voicemail, even_.”

“my phone ran out of battery,” jaebeom admits. “i charged it in the car a couple of minutes ago.” he doesn’t say he’ll call jinyoung back.

“ _i’ll tell him_ ,” youngjae says before hanging up.

it’s fine, jaebeom tells himself. he’s still thinking about floorboards and walls and paint, dimensions scrawled in felt tip pin on the inner curve of his wrist as a string of numbers, pushing into his guest room with a distracted press of the lips.

“jaebeom- _ssi_ ,” jinyoung starts, startled from where he’s reading his book. “i – “

“did you eat dinner?” jaebeom blurts, unable to think when jinyoung is in his sweats and shorts, comfortably lounging against the leather couch.

“yes,” jinyoung motions to the wooden table in front of him. “i saved you some. it’s still warm, so go change and eat.”

and because jaebeom’s head is still spinning, he says, “as my husband commands,” before turning to his dresser. missing the way jinyoung’s ears turn red. he remains distracted – by the food, which is spicier than he likes, but he downs anyway – by finding sketch paper, or maybe one of his old sketchbooks? – by jinyoung’s knees, his calves, his ankles – jaebeom sets the dishes aside when he’s done and immediately goes to his work bag.

“i’m going to be up for a little while longer,” jaebeom calls behind him, “so go to sleep early.” he doesn’t wait to hear jinyoung’s answer, already rushing to move his sketchbook away from jinyoung. he doesn’t want the other to see, not when his ideas are still in their beginning, fluttering stages. not yet. not until there’s something concrete he can give jinyoung.

he misses the way jinyoung stares after his back, wide-eyed and suddenly, abruptly, feeling like someone has tugged the rug out from underneath his feet.

/

jaebeom has a habit of single-minded focus. it is both a good and a bad thing, as the habit itself has seen jaebeom through some difficult professional times. in university, it made him buckle down and sit through enormous piles of stimulations and blueprints; in his very adult job, it made him settle into his office with his head craned over the edge of his computer, squinting at tiny lettering and imagining skyscrapers in the confines of his mind.

he forgets to eat, to sleep, to be human. the object of his focus is the light at the end of the tunnel, the goal to reach as soon as possible in the most precise, perfect way. jaebeom knows how he gets, intense and quiet, curling in on himself for hours – days – at a time. at first, there had been the servants in the house, and then his classmates, and then his friends, and then jinyoung. squirreled away in a corner of a spare room in the im residence, no one can find him between the maze-like halls. not even jinyoung. it’s both a blessing and a curse.

he comes back to their shared room to see jinyoung settled on the couch, feet under him, splayed comfortably as he reads a novel. his eyes are slowly swinging shut, because it’s nearly 1am, but as soon as jaebeom comes into the room he straightens. it hurts a little, to know that jinyoung can’t even find it in him to relax in jaebeom’s presence, but he’ll – he’ll work on it. jaebeom is a fixer.

“where were you all day?”

“working,” jaebeom admits truthfully. with a little wiggle of his discarded papers and yellow manila folders, he kicks off his slippers and groans. his shoulders hurt from being curved over a computer screen.

“oh.” as if convincing himself of something, jinyoung asks, “making up for lost time?”

yes, he is. jaebeom is making up for all the years he’s been complacent, all the months he’s stared at the nape of jinyoung’s neck and didn’t reach out while they still remained in the comforts of their own bed. his reasoning and justification seem paltry and thin even to him, but by working himself into a frenzy, jaebeom can pretend that these thoughts aren’t important.

without much of an answer, he settles onto the bed, already curling to one side.

“at least shower,” jinyoung’s voice calls. “or change.”

“mm,” jaebeom sinks further into the bed, not minding the way jinyoung’s feet slide across the floor.

/

the first time jaebeom feels that awful, unrelenting exhaustion under his skin subside is when he kneels on the floor of the tiny cabin and rips deteriorated flooring apart with the back edge of a hammer. it tears underneath his hands easily. it is a month into south korea’s sweltering, humid summer, and all jaebeom can think about is ink stains on his fingers and papercuts and jinyoung’s flushed shoulders, the tip of his nose, his deep and sighing voice. it keeps him up at night. jaebeom is exhausted to his bones, but this rids him of that exhaustion: this is purpose, this is familiar.

he doesn’t find a similar flooring pattern to what his grandfather had originally been using, so jaebeom pulls apart the floor entirely and begins to redo it anew with what he’s bought. the windows are open to let in the breeze, even though his back begins to sweat early into the work. but it’s good work. heavy, good work. the first day, he finishes the floor of one measly room but he’s done it all _himself_ , and he can walk across it. it’s sturdy. strong and good.

jinyoung can walk across the floors with his little shuffling walk of the morning and the sure footsteps of the afternoon. he won’t fall through the cracks.

the next thing jaebeom gets to work on after a swig of water and a burst of productivity is the walls. thankfully the walls are mostly good, save for the upstairs and a couple of rooms, so jaebeom scribbles down a couple of colors that would possibly be good. sage green, a warm buttery yellow, maybe a cream. something that would go well with the warmth of jinyoung’s undertone.

jaebeom wants to another window, open up the ones they already have. jinyoung likes to read, he remembers, and there would be enough space for a little nook at a window. maybe he can bring the illusion of weightlessness with a glass balcony, a sealed windowpane. a little terrarium made of silk throw pillows and a resting place for a tea cozy and a warm knitted blanket.

a living room and a bedroom and a bathroom and a kitchen. any space in between and jaebeom is afraid that there will be too much distance he can’t cross.

/

upon approaching their second month in south korea, there is a grand party his family has been invited to. as one of the prolific sons of the im family, jaebeom has to stick around. for the last week he’s been in and out of the house, driving down to the cabin near the sea, slowly chipping away at the little things he wants to make out of it. recently, jaebeom has found a little pond a few meters away, the water a little too salty for his tastes, with small critters instead of fish. he’d sat at the edge and dunked his feet in and jaebeom thinks of that pond while he’s pulling out a navy suit from his closet.

jinyoung is wearing a cream colored shirt and a black blazer, tugging at the material around his waist. his wedding ring glints against the fabric, and his hair is so impeccably done, and jaebeom just –

“your tie is crooked,” jinyoung sighs, before reaching over to move jaebeom’s hands away and do it himself. “again.”

“sorry,” jaebeom says, for lack of anything else to say. if he has been tying his ties crooked for the past year just to have jinyoung’s hands on him, then – then. no one else has to know but him. if he forgets to iron his shirts, or where his cufflinks are, or. or which pair of shoes has been shined. if he forgets, or if he purposely does not remember, what difference does it make?

jinyoung usually fixes him up, because jinyoung is also a fixer. but his hands are quick and sure, and usually – usually – he pulls away right after he’s done. this time, when jinyoung finishes fixing his tie, he rests his hands against jaebeom’s collar and frowns down at the windsor knot. his eyelashes shadow across his cheekbones.

he’s so very lovely, jaebeom thinks mutely to himself. even frowning, even upset and distant, jaebeom can’t help but keep turning back like he’s staring at a nostalgic dream made human.

“you haven’t really been around,” jinyoung starts slowly, hands pulling away. he steps back. still in his socks. jaebeom’s noticed that jinyoung doesn’t really like wearing shoes inside, prefers socks or bare feet, a very strange and cute little quirk. that’s why floors, if they’re made of wood, need to be warm. if they’re tile, they’ll be cold on skin in the mornings, so better not to have jinyoung go into the kitchen until afternoon, when spilled sun will warm up even the coldest corner.

“i’ve been busy,” jaebeom says. and, because sometimes he just can’t help himself, he teases, “did you miss me?”

he had teased jinyoung like this once, when they were first married. after their honeymoon they moved straight into jaebeom’s apartment in new york, and the first morning where jinyoung had shuffled into the kitchen without his shoes but still dressed well in a cardigan and chinos, holding a hand out for tea, jaebeom had said the same – _sorry i’ve been busy, did you miss me?_

then, jinyoung had stiffened visibly with tension, his shoulders straightening as he shook his head in the negative, stating that he wasn’t a child. he didn’t miss him.

now, jinyoung raises his gaze to look at him, and there’s – confliction, there. jaebeom doesn’t know what for. he reaches over and tugs jinyoung closer, reaches a cautious hand up to the back of his perfectly done hair. rests a hand against his nape. “sorry,” he says instead, a murmur as close to jinyoung’s ear as he can make it.

it’s pink when jaebeom pulls away. he stares at it, almost entranced, as jinyoung shoves at his shoulder gently and goes to retrieve their shoes.

“it’s just strange,” jinyoung says when he’s turned, “you were usually home more often than not in america. and now you’re not home at all.”

and jaebeom doesn’t quite know what prompts him to say, “i have no home here.”

jinyoung pauses, this time truly startled. it changes his face from the coolly professional, unflappable man to a surprised deer caught in headlights. jaebeom prefers the second more, heady with its implication of open vulnerability. and then, a sense of dread, as he realizes what he’s admitted.

jinyoung leaves jaebeom’s shoes beside his own.

/

“this is the part of the night where we make our exit,” yugyeom sighs next to him. he looks dapper tonight, tall and no longer a child that used to follow jaebeom around. or an angsty teenager, sullenly staring out the window with his long fingers curled around a plastic boba cup, ice swirling in the drink under the summer heat. not to say that yugyeom still doesn’t bother jaebeom to take him out to get boba. he would, if jaebeom gave him half the chance.

there are glimpses of yugyeom’s childish wonder beneath the broad shoulders of a man. jaebeom is unnecessarily glad that his nephew hasn’t been beaten down to a tired, cynical shadow. jaebeom is glad yugyeom isn’t him.

now he sips gently on a glass of champagne. _he’s legal,_ jaebeom has to remind himself so he doesn’t rip the glass out of yugyeom’s hands. when the other downs it in one go and reaches for another, jaebeom replaces it with a glass of lemon sparkling water.

“hyungnim,” yugyeom sighs, but takes the glass regardless. for all that he looks like he belongs, hair coiffed and a smudge of kohl on his lower lash line, yugyeom is obviously displeased to be here. he has all the makings of a well-taken care of young master, posture lazy like a languid cat, looking out at the masses of the gala with a bored gaze. like he’s seen it all before.

the first time jaebeom had gone to a gala with jinyoung, he hadn’t managed to yet develop that same poise. instead, in his fine suit which fit a tad too snugly, he stared at the lights and crystal chandelier and gilded floors with a sense of overwhelmed, hesitant awe. as if he was impressed but didn’t want to be.

jaebeom’s eyes find him on the floor regardless. they’ve been married for three years, long enough for jinyoung to learn how to pretend. he’s too good at it, jaebeom thinks, eyeing the way his mother is accompanied by jinyoung as they make their rounds. jinyoung’s smiles are not too wide and not too small, so pleasant, a rising flush on his cheeks that speaks of a drink too many but nothing wildly improper. just a bit of a tease on the indulgent side. jaebeom downs the champagne flute he had taken from yugyeom.

“you should go over,” yugyeom says suddenly. jaebeom looks over at him. he jerks his chin toward jinyoung and his mother. “it’s obvious you want to. we can make our exit later.”

neither he nor yugyeom were a fan of such pomp and circumstance. the bright lights make jaebeom’s eyes hurt, and the ostentatious gold leaf pattern on the crown molding is obnoxious to his senses. he’s offended by the roman-styled architecture and the drinks and the air conditioning, the ventilation system, and the placement of the windows.

but the warm lights are good for jinyoung’s peach toned skin. and he looks like he’s having more fun at the galas here than the ones in america that jaebeom was obligated to go to regardless of how far he was from his family. here they speak korean, jaebeom realizes, and there they barely spoke to jinyoung at all.

and because jaebeom doesn’t want to say _i do_ , not when those words have always held deeper and unfathomable meanings to them – to want something, to want it so much but unable to really, truly have it – jaebeom doesn’t say it at all.

instead, he says, “i’m trying not to cross paths with my mom. why are you ruining things for me?”

yugyeom rolls his eyes. “you should want to be with nyoung-hyung more than you don’t want to be around great-auntie.” 

“ _nyoung_ -hyung?”

“it annoys him,” yugyeom says cheerfully. “but is also endearing; my specialty. seriously, hyungnim, why are you lounging around here like a brooding main character?”

jaebeom grabs another flute of champagne off of a passing waiter.

“rude,” yugyeom says, because he’s not stupid. pointedly, jaebeom downs the flute of champagne with one easy burn to the throat. it feels nice. jaebeom sighs into his sleeve, blank eyes staring at the movement of dresses and suits that make him feel. disassociated. quietly part of the background.

and then jinyoung meets his eyes in a sudden movement, catching onto jaebeom’s as if hooked. he pulls away from jaebeom’s mother as soon as they make eye contact. there is a slightly worried frown on his face, the closer he comes to jaebeom. yugyeom pats his shoulder and quietly leaves.

“having fun?” jaebeom asks.

“you don’t look well,” jinyoung says. after a pause, he reaches out and presses his hand against the crook of jaebeom’s elbow, which is doing well in managing to hold up his champagne. “i think…we should head back to your family’s home.”

jaebeom says nothing to that, but places his glass aside on the table. jinyoung tugs at him gently, leading him outside, and asks for his car keys.

but jaebeom just shakes his head. “i’m not drunk,” he says. it’s true – two flutes of champagne that taste more like fizzling, flavored water than alcohol? “besides, i saw you down a shot earlier. i’ll drive.”

jinyoung’s fingers curl back into himself. in the car, he takes off his blazer, pulling at his tie and leaning back as the ac blasts on full. jaebeom starts the car.

it’s warm tonight, on the sizzling edge of summer tempered by the air conditioner. jinyoung loses some of his straight laced posture and leans against the edge of the window, his head lolling in time with every speed bump. jaebeom finds himself driving slower subconsciously.

he fiddles with the ends of his sleeves. while jaebeom is merging onto the highway, jinyoung says, “you really don’t like these parties, do you?”

“they’re okay,” jaebeom dodges.

“you don’t even like being here, in korea,” jinyoung continues. “at first i thought it was because of your family. and i think that’s still a big part of it, but there’s something else.”

jaebeom’s mouth thins into a line.

a pause. “when are we going back to new york?”

at a red light, jaebeom turns to look at jinyoung, startled as mountain deer. he must look like it too, eyes wide and insecure, his worn out hands curved over the steering wheel. jinyoung is staring back at him, but his expression is different – open. there is hurt in his eyes like a dark bruise, and his mouth trembles a bit at the corner, and he looks confused.

“i,” jaebeom starts, but continues to drive when someone honks behind him. “i don’t plan on going back. to new york.”

another pause. “but you love it,” jinyoung says.

“i do,” jaebeom says. “but you don’t.”

jaebeom can’t recall how many nights he’s laid beside jinyoung’s warm body, staring up at the ceiling, so exhausted that he feels it sink deep into his bones. how many times he’s wished for liquid courage, small miracles, for the ability to reach out and have jinyoung listen to him. maybe place his hand against jaebeom’s chest, ask wide-eyed _please listen i’m half in love with you and i don’t know why_ or _i’m sorry i dared._ dared to let himself like jinyoung’s laughter, his petty anger, his wet hair after a shower.

“you don’t – “ it seems to take jinyoung aback. “we don’t have to stay here for _me_. i mean, i just – i grew up here, so it makes sense – but you – “ the more jaebeom stays quiet, the more jinyoung stumbles. in the end, he goes, “if you want to go back. we. we should.”

jaebeom wets his very dry bottom lip. “jinyoung,” he starts. “when my mother showed me your picture and told me she’d like us to get married, i said no.”

jinyoung inhales sharply.

“i didn’t want to be married,” jaebeom continues, still looking straight ahead, until the lights in front of him blurred. “i was content in being alone. a couple more months and i would finally escape from the rest of my family. so i told her no. and she told me that it was a shame, then, since it would have been nice to show my new spouse around the recent estate they had bought in the hamptons, off a lake. grandfather’s gift for us,” jaebeom swallows. “an estate they were able to afford by buying out the company i currently work for.”

“no,” jinyoung mumbles, “to her own son?”

his mother is many things, but kind? jaebeom is very well aware that the job he had gotten in new york, his overseas position that would directly move him out of his family’s grasp, was supposed to be his last saving grace. he bet everything on that one escapade – and yet, there he had stood, out-maneuvered at every turn. at least his mother had enough kindness to be subtle with her blackmailing: marry who we want you to, or else kiss your position goodbye.

“so i said yes,” jaebeom says. “and we got married a month later. i don’t know the whole story, but i imagine that your own acceptance of the proposal wasn’t all that willing, either.”

jinyoung doesn’t say anything, but jaebeom knows: his aging father’s company had been tanking. jinyoung was the youngest of his siblings, the only one not married, of good breeding; beautiful, well-taught, ran in the same social circles. his father was a friend of jaebeom’s grandfather, and this was the only way they could help the park family from drowning.

“it must have been difficult for you. and then we moved out of south korea with no warning. i knew you weren’t prepared. i’m sorry that this upturned your entire life.” jaebeom exhales shakily. “and if staying in south korea gives you some kind of peace of mind, makes you feel more in control, then i don’t mind staying.”

for a good ten minutes, jinyoung has nothing to say to that. and then, quietly, “you’re kinder than you think you are, jaebeom- _ssi_.”

jaebeom’s mind flashes back to the way he wants jinyoung, wants to kiss his mouth and his knuckles and his hands, and thinks that this isn’t kindness, but greed. he’s his mother’s son in the end.

he shakes his head. when they roll into the im family house, jaebeom presses his forehead against the steering wheel. he waits for the valet to shake himself awake and rush over to them to get jaebeom’s car. in the short space of time that it takes for that to happen, jinyoung reaches over and brushes a lock of jaebeom’s bangs aside. he looks to the side, surprised, but jinyoung’s fingers don’t move away.

“can i call you _hyung?_ ” jinyoung asks.

jaebeom’s mouth works open for a moment. he manages to say, despite his lungs beating something fierce in his chest, “if you want to.”

“i didn’t think you wanted me to,” jinyoung says. then, in the half dark, he smiles the way jaebeom likes it, like they’re sharing a secret and jinyoung’s oh-so-pleased to be part of it.

/

it’s that smile that drives jaebeom to the house by the ocean again. he thinks about the secret-sharing smile too often, focused on the shape of jinyoung’s white teeth, their flat edge, the way his eyes crinkle – four on the left, three on the right – and the slightly cold fingertips at his temple. jinyoung runs cold. jaebeom wants to ask, like some cheesy drama hero, if he can warm him up.

he’s carving the edge of a chair as he thinks it, and his whittling knife slips and cuts him across the palm. jaebeom swears at the flash of pain, but stares down, resigned, before washing the wound.

the water now runs hot and cold. he’s got almost all the electricity wiring done. most of it he did himself, but there was someone else that came in halfway through to take a look at the promise of a large commission.

the thought of finishing the chair, an older piece he found in the attic, is pleasing enough that jaebeom finds himself heading back without much care about his hand. most of the work on the house is done. he’s got a couple more rooms to fix up, but he thinks that within a month, there should be good wood frame on the entire place.

it gets colder and colder with every passing day. jaebeom wonders how the sea will turn the air chillier. jinyoung’s runs cold, so the house should be warm.

he’s checking through his messages on his phone, responding to a couple of work emails, when he hears a sharp intake of breath. jinyoung pulls his hand away from his phone, frowning. “what happened to your hand?”

“just a cut,” jaebeom says in surprise. “it’s fine, it barely stings.”

“but it bled through the bandage.”

that it had. jaebeom checks his phone for bloodstains, but there aren’t any. thank god. “get that taken care of! isn’t there a medic somewhere? or a hospital your family conveniently owns?”

jaebeom takes an honest to god moment to think about it. “not that i remember,” he offers honestly, unable to hide the smile the rises when jinyoung rolls his eyes.

it would be nicer if jinyoung were doing this, jaebeom thinks to himself mournfully. the family doctor that works for their family had been insistently called over even as jaebeom stopped bleeding ten minutes after his bandages soaked through, but jinyoung insisted. the old man is giving him stitches now, gently wiping the cut on jaebeom’s palm with alcohol to make sure it doesn’t get infected. jinyoung flutters around in the background looking uncomfortable and upset at the same time, arms crossed over his chest. this is a lot for a tiny cut. medium slash. whatever.

the old doctor looks up to meet jaebeom’s eye, shaking his head. “better not argue, son,” is all he says. _still._ jaebeom wouldn’t have cared much if it were jinyoung, leaning over his hand with careful movements, his brow maybe furrowed as he worked with careful fingers, treading lightly to not press on jaebeom’s wound. he’s missed his chance to have jinyoung fussing.

maybe when he’s working on the chair again – no. jaebeom. _no_.

“it won’t get infected, right?” jinyoung asks, leaning back on the balls of his feet.

“no,” the doctor says indulgently. “even if it did, this kid’s immune system is strong. it’d probably fight it off in a heartbeat. all those days as a kid eating mud helped in the end.”

“ _why_ ,” jaebeom chokes out, glaring at the doctor.

“mud?”

with a smile, the doctor turns to jinyoung and whispers, “he used to think mudpies were actual _pies_.”

“i’m all healthy and patched up _thanks_ ,” jaebeom rushes to pat off the seat of his pants and open the door. “please. feel free to find your way out, doctor song.” doctor song laughs heartily – more like cackles – on his way out, but even jinyoung is hiding a smile now. jaebeom mumbles something in embarrassment, but he doesn’t truly mind.

“hyung,” jinyoung starts. he says the term like he’s still trying it on for size. jaebeom always answers quickly in response. “what happened? something like that isn’t a simple papercut.”

his brain is still reeling from being called _hyung_ , so excuse jaebeom if he feels a bit stupid. “uh, well, i – you know. it happens.” jinyoung raises a disbelieving eyebrow, and jaebeom _knows_ he won’t be able to stop himself from saying anything, so he clears his throat and stumbles over a couple words about dinnertime and not being late despite it being four pm.

he’s quite bad at not meeting jinyoung’s eyes over the dinner table, but somehow, jaebeom manages.

/

he thinks about it when he’s fixing up a table in the small house. it’s a proper house now, with all the fittings and set ups of a house. floors sturdy enough to walk on, to be warmed, with walls that hold steady against wind and rain. in the end, for all the things that matter, jaebeom supposes that building this shouldn’t be his first priority, but it is regardless. he finds himself unable to focus on much else throughout the days.

it’s mid-autumn. jaebeom supposes that he’ll have the place done soon, perhaps in another month. there will be larger things to fix: the furnishings, the paint on the walls, the color of the tiles. but those are things jinyoung can choose, jaebeom thinks. what he’s put into this house is his sweat, his blood, and a desperate hope to build something he can’t quite say in words.

jinyoung is the one good with words, not him. jaebeom works with hands, in material things.

he’s still thinking about this as his phone rings in his pocket. startled, jaebeom drops the screwdriver in his hand. he leans against the edge of the heating unit he’d been trying to assemble, and sees jinyoung’s name flash across his screen.

clumsily, he attempts to open his phone with one hand, the other scrambling for his lost tool. “jinyoung? is there something wrong?”

there’s a moment of quiet silence, with crackling of a fire in the background. “ _no_ ,” he says, voice strangely off. morose, even. “ _just that mother-in-law was asking where you were. we haven’t seen you all day. where did you go?_ ”

“oh, just went for a drive.” jaebeom knows his mistake as soon as the words leave his mouth; he squeezes his eyes shut. he had been using that excuse more often than not, but his time in the house had been short, those days. today, he had risen at 6am and felt the need to move, to build. he left jinyoung with a note on the tabletop of their shared room before heading out. it’s nearing 7pm now.

“ _a drive,_ ” jinyoung says flatly. jaebeom doesn’t have to reach to hear the cooling irritation giving way to anger. “ _a drive to_ where? _off a cliff?_ ”

“jinyoung – “

“ _don’t bother coming home,_ ” jinyoung says furiously, before hanging up.

jaebeom swears, setting his phone shut. he had thought – well, he had thought things were going _well_ between them. jinyoung more often than not ate dinner with jaebeom, spoke to him with a teasing slyness to his words, and laughed more freely in his presence. but jaebeom had chosen to forget the way jinyoung’s mouth pressed into a thin line at his suspicious injuries, his day trips, because jaebeom – jaebeom was swept by the need to keep _seeing_ that smile, and couldn’t he – couldn’t he have it, all for himself, if he just finished? if he could build their house before winter, hide away in the countryside, where jinyoung missed the water?

it doesn’t look well for him. missing for hours of a day at a time, forgoing the lim mansion as his home. jaebeom throws aside his screwdriver and heads immediately for the car, already attempting to call jinyoung back.

it goes on voicemail as he enters the car. “jinyoung-ah, listen to me – it’s definitely _not_ whatever you’re thinking, okay? i promise i can explain what’s going on, if you just gave me some time – “

beep.

jaebeom shifts the car into drive and calls again. and again, jinyoung doesn’t answer. “i know you’re mad at me. i haven’t been really honest with you about what i’m doing, but that’s because i wanted it to be a surprise. i’m not great with giving gifts or even being a good husband – “

beep.

jaebeom turns onto the intersection, heading back to seoul. he calls again. voicemail. “anyway, i know how much you didn’t like being in new york, and i can’t imagine you like being around all those people in the mansion and – well, i don’t like it either, so i thought – please let me explain to you? i’ll be home in a bit. i promise i’ll explain. i don’t want to keep things from you – “

beep.

jaebeom swears again, his phone blinking with low charge. his headlights are dim, and the night is already pitch black. he calls again. voicemail. “i’m sorry for sending all these messages. but i’ll explain, jinyoung, i promise – oh _shit_ – “

beep.


End file.
